Hi there, I'm 6'1" white male Xtrabeing, welcome to the Fleshpots. Please don't be offended, but I like myself rather a lot. When stranger-girls shout out they want to have your baby to you, it tends to affect the ole ego a tad. 400 xwatchers come here daily and you're 1.

Captured

in Downtown Toronto by a near-immortal woman obsessed with me and my love, I erotic Xwarper was brought to the mental hospital (St. Mike’s). This one on the corner of Queen Street E. and Victoria, near Massey Hall, the established and cozy concert performance venue.

I was released in April in time to catch the swing of seasons. I have spent two months now in the Salvation Army Booth Building homeless shelter, sleeping among mostly young men. The workers here are in their twenties or thirties. I would say most are around 27, 28.

The near-immortal woman has been following me around, inept in her words. She has powers I need, I want. My bargaining tool is my love. Her bargaining power is her rather special abilities. Prometheus failed where I will succeed.

*waving a lazy, dismissive hand* I already can do a limited repertoire of her things, without teaching. Deactivate security systems on doors (making money fly out of ATMs is an extension of that, I savvy). I can find myself easily in places, so to speak. Other things that are highly unusual and unbelievable to the skeptic.

We have entered the skeptic’s age, but like a sorcerer late to the game I have made myself a believer. I am looking for a place to live, but I await the girl who will join me in the guise of a man. What a ridiculous state of affairs this is! I want to annihilate and crush! Long-game patience is not a normal part of life, and I have spent 9 years waiting for this moment. Literally no fucking of girls. Do you have any idea how good-looking I am? How effortless and smiley it is for me to approach girls on the street? And here I am. Waiting. For the power to drop into my hands.

As a child, I must have realized girls like this existed. After all, I was born in St. Joseph’s Hospital on Charlton in Hamilton, grew up as a very early tot in Erie Street, something like that, and was raised in the next burb over from these nasty little brats who have what I need. Am I going to forgive their stupidity? Join in their games?

I give the implication I am like them. I am nothing like them. To repeat, I have what they need. If they don’t give me what I want, I’m leaving them. There’s only so long they can entrap me, imprison me, redirect me; if I demanded and threw a tantrum and showed hate in my eyes, they (she) would eventually back off with tears in the eyes, genuinely devastated. Then she would turn and be gone. And no one would ever believe my story.

Good. I will tell my sons this story. My many sons. I have no interest in daughters. To them is the task of being bartered away to my friend-lords. It is in the pits of their lives that my friends will find ecstasy before disposing of them.

I want to live in a dark world. I want a universe of stories, but real stories, impinging daily on everyone’s existence. My biggest fear even six months ago was that I would turn into a J.C. — Jesus Christ — figure, “saving” everyone in some misguided pussy-boy scheme — but NO. Impossible and revolting to the nth with bugs crawling all over a corpse. This is not their religious dream, their incapacity to iron out their own problems — nation-states, wars, economic inequality. The Pareto number. Milton Friedman grinning his eternal grin on the video I watch of him, talking to some twat-doctorette as she smiles and nods because Freiddy has talked about government supported buyers of services. The world they all inhabit is a slow evolution into boredom. The only escape for any of them — even for me — is the movies. When I turn from books to the creation of movies, I’ll be the greatest ever. Remember the Holy Trinity: Rhythm Is A Dancer, Snap (music); Stephen King, Horror (books); Star Wars, George Lucas (movies). But I’ll beat them all in their respective spheres. I am the greatest.

*leaning back in this chair, wishing for a fat Cuban cigar, mirroring the dick in my pants* I would love to ditch the girl I’m “dating” as she fucks with me on a daily basis, and move on to girls — normal girls, with real social skills — I can control and manipulate to the nth power. I want them to love me and fail at controlling me and love me more as a consequence. I want to mate them with each other in the same room. I want to get out of this homeless shelter.

But Hamilton is my long-term future. Someday, I decided today while lying on the grass in the weak summer sun, Hamilton will be the center of Great MegaToronto. To the southwest, MegaChicago. To the southeast, MegaManhattan. Heavy development needs to go on to the south of here, due South, to balance out the symmetry of heavier northern development.

I also thought of that today. And an Uptown Toronto needs to rise up in Hamilton. Buildings for foreign multinationals, me somehow involved and directing. Loved. But not exactly feared. Yet.

I am in a homeless shelter and I am biding my time. “Kim” will move in with me, the guy with the inner girl, for real. And “Kim” and I will share a space and become familiar, and chains will be broken that have never been broken before.

I eagerly await the opportunity to reap what I have sown and become what I was meant to become.